Disclaimer: Yep! I'm still saying it: "I do not own the Inheritance Cycle!" I also don't own the Black Prince although I borrowed his name from historical events since this version of Eragon was inspired by parts of him and the Heath Ledger's movie – "A Knight's Tale."

Author's Note: First of all, I'm sorry for the wait but the chapter was a struggle to write for some reason. I fear my inspiration for this story is slipping but I will try my uttermost best to continue it so do not worry that it will be ended prematurely. Moving on, I want to thank you all profusely for sticking with the story. Your response is heart-warming and I really appreciate it. About this chapter, I don't have too much to say other than some of you probably saw this coming. Also, I want to warn you that there will be violence, death, and bloodshed. On that happy note, I shall end the preface and let the chapter begin.

Enjoy!

CHAPTER 7:

It was well past midnight and the star-filled heavens were all but blocked from view due to the billowing, menacing storm clouds that brewed forebodingly on high. As was wont to happen on such occasions before a storm, a thick dense fog accompanied by a merciless frigid chill prevailed through the air rendering an all together dismal and ominous atmosphere.

Nonetheless, the guards of Fort Hellgrind did not seem to object. Perhaps it was the pile of glimmering gold coins in the centre of the table and the cards in their hands. Their beady, shifty eyes betrayed their gleeful joy although it was more like a lust as they eyed the coins up for gambling and while more than one of them mulled over the notion of simply ending the game and taking the coin for themselves.

Unfortunately, that would most likely end in a nasty brawl since the guards were all in a half-drunken state of mind or rather, the lack of one. Their senses were bogged down in a blurry stupor and they could hardly think straight. Their eyes were mostly fastened on each other and the coins or the occasional elf maiden unlucky enough to be the one to refill their mugs of ale.

Being large burly fellows with wide girths and meaty arms, they failed to recognize the cold. But it seemed that their lack of recognition also supplied that they were a bit dull in the head or slightly deaf whether due to their drunken stupor or otherwise. For none of them heard the cantering of hooves until it was quite too late and when they did the site that greeted their eyes seemed much larger and fiercer than it actually was.

What they saw exactly would have been disputed had there been a more favourable outcome to the incident in their regard, but luck was not with them tonight and this was indeed apparent by the stranger who approached them unchecked through the gates. The guards on duty must have fallen asleep or been busy making use of the slaves since the stranger received no quarrel as he casually rode into the courtyard of the fort they were hired to protect.

But all such thoughts vanished as their dulled minds raced back and forth with doubts, worries, and fear as the stranger's unusual outfit took effect. They watched a trifle nervously as the stranger cantered into the fort on a black steed with dark eyes and a black leather saddle. The stranger himself was dressed entirely in black, making his suit of silver-plate armour appear seamless as if it was fashioned in one piece and not several. His helm had a visor that was covered leaving a thin slit for his eyes which were shadowed but glinted eerily in the light of the torches on the wall and the small fires in the stone urns. The stranger wore the armour as if it was a part of him, as if they were one the same. A massive lethal-looking long-sword was strapped to his back although it was clearly a lighter, one-handed weapon, oddly enough, and a kite-shaped shield without a coat of arms was attached to the saddle. Another thing that caused them to grow apprehensive was that the stranger did not hold the reigns when he rode the black stallion. Instead, they were placed comfily in his lap as if he was an expert rider which made them think he was some kind of knight or a fierce warrior. Needless to say, the inky black armour without coat of arms or emblem sent the warning bells ringing. The armour looked as if it was forged in the fires of the Underworld itself. But the guards were fighters themselves and did not want a single warrior to scare them into submission as he was obviously trying to. So instead, one of the braver and more reckless of the gang stood up quickly hoping to startle the mounted warrior, slamming his chair aside as he did so.

"Halt in the name of Lord Durza!" The guard roared. "Who are you and where do you hail from?"

"I go by many names," The stranger said simply.

"Well give me one of them," The guard spat. "So that I can at least know half of the man I am going to kill."

Despite his closed helm, the stranger seemed to give the guard a feral smile as if he was completely used to this behaviour and not afraid in the slightest. Needless to say, this sent chills down his spine but he shoved his doubts brutally aside and picked up a large war axe that was resting by his chair as a warning.

"Men call me the Black Prince, the Knight of Chaos, the Lord of Shadow and Flame, the Blade of Destiny," The stranger drawled. "The list grows on but I tire of your word games. Feigned hospitality clearly does not suit brigands like yourselves. Now tell me something in return: Who amongst you is your leader?"

"And why do you wish to know?" The guard standing up asked gruffly since the others were too terrified to say anything. Wimps!

"So I may know who to kill first!" The stranger retorted, spreading his arms wide in a mock welcoming gesture.

The guard did not believe this dark-armoured warrior was capable of delivering on his threat. He was also feeling in a spiteful mood and since none of the cowards dared put the bastard in his place, he felt it was his duty to do so. After all, the son of a bitch was ruining their fun and after this pathetic game the guard was wanted to try out one of the new slaves they brought in recently.

"I am!" He bellowed, roaring with laughter.

Finally snapping out of their reverie, the other guards echoed the standing guard's laughter, raising their fists in the air eager for a challenge.

But before any of them could react, the dark-armoured warrior leapt nimbly off his steed, slid his sword out of its sheath with an eerie hiss and lashed out swiftly. In one fluid motion, the long glinting blade plunged into the guard's belly piercing through his coarse brown tunic and suit of chainmail. The guard's laugh turned to a gurgle, his eyes wide with shock and pain.

He didn't even have time to scream as the stranger pulled his sword out of the man's belly and let him topple to the ground. He fell limp resulting in an unearthly silence. All that could be heard was the war horse whinnying and stomping as if it knew that trouble was ahead. As one being, the guards gazed downwards with pure shock etched on their face.

Their mouths agape, they stared incomprehensively at their fallen comrade until it registered in the ruffians' minds that the poor brute was dead. As shock faded to understanding it transformed to momentary confusion and then rage. The stranger seemed to expect this for he had quietly pulled his black shield off the horse and patted its flanks softly but firmly causing the animal to neigh and bolt away in panic.

He now stood at the ready with his shield out protectively and his sword pointed flat at the guards whose faces were purple with fury. As their anger brewed, it finally exploded into action propelling them forward. They roared battle cries and vows of vengeance as they pulled out their weapons which consisted of clubs, iron maces, pikes, daggers, and axes. Swords were expensive to make so the simple hirelings possessed the cruder and harsher weapons.

The warrior seemed to count on this for he swerved to the sided as a guard swung a mace at him and lashed out with his sword. It didn't slice clean through the man's abdomen but rather got stuck half-way. The warrior grunted as he dislodged his sword from the man who fell limply aside screaming in pain. A kick to his temple with his metal boot knocked him out but almost caused the warrior to get hit by a mace that lunged for his head.

Eragon blocked the mace with his shield just in time and winced as the blow made him stagger backwards slightly. He pushed forward twice with his shield making the guard slip in his stance. Steeling himself, Eragon bashed his left arm with the shield and hacked at his mace-arm with the sword. The man toppled over with a cry of pain. Eragon couldn't do anything for him though since another soldier rushed up to him swinging two smaller war axes.

"I'll gut you like a pig, you bastard!" He shrieked, spitting in his fervour.

Eragon grimaced and ducked from side to side, avoiding the axe blow right and left. But the warrior was persistent and his arms moved in a whirl as he flung his axes about wildly, not being weighed down by a shield. Running out of time, Eragon caught the axes on his shield and stabbed his sword downwards, penetrating the man's throat.

The young dragon rider hacked and slashed furiously as soldiers rushed at him. Once his concentration almost slipped and he nearly got his arm chopped off, taking a thin slice on his shoulder instead. It hurt like hell and his vision swam with red as he cut through the soldiers rapidly.

Nothing else mattered to him now as he poured all of his bottled, pent-up rage into the fight. All of his anger at the Empire, its barbaric traditions, having to buy a slave, being taught by a slave, and now Durza.

It was akin to dancing with death as Eragon whirled around gracefully and fluidly as only experience, not training, would make one master. It was nasty business but happened faster than Eragon expected. All too soon, it was over and the young man dropped to his knees.

Gasping and panting for breath, Eragon struggled not to pass out as he heard a plaintive whimper from the shed beside the main keep of the fort. Struggling to his knees, he whispered "Waíse heill" in the Ancient Language and sighed in relief as he felt the pain in his shoulder slipping away despite the itching it rendered.

Feeling stronger and better, he renewed his grip on his sword in case there were any other guards about. But this was a small fort compared to most and only consisted of a small cave-like house in the centre of the stone wall which was accessed by a wooden door and some steps. There was a wooden ladder that led up to the flat, fenced-in roof and a few wooden sheds outside also surrounded by the stone wall.

It was in one of these that Eragon heard the whimpering and mustered up all his courage for the cry sounded desperate and pleading. As the adrenalin rush of battle cleared, he knew instantly where the sound was coming from and feared the worst but hoped for the best. Sucking in a deep breath, he quickened his pace and stepped over the dead bodies trickling with dark blood.

Upon reaching the door, he found it unlatched. Closing his eyes momentarily, he summoned up all his bravery and courage knowing he would need it. Giving himself a mental shake, he kicked the door open and staggered back seconds later. A revolting, putrid stench assaulted his nostrils and he quickly covered his nose with his mailed hand, placing his shield on the ground by the door.

Sword lowered but ready, he stepped gingerly inside and peered around struggling to adjust to the dimly lit hut. His blood boiled as his eyes fell on a wall of bars blocking off one side of the hut. The cage was filled near to the brim with elves most of them sickly-looking and the majority women. There were a few men but they were younger and there were even a few children, although mostly girls.

Eragon fought down the vomit that threatened to dislodge itself from his stomach at the disgusting sight. It wasn't the elves that bothered him but how they were treated. All of them had hand-cuffs on. They were filthy and covered nearly from head to toe in soot and grime. Most had bags under their eyes and all looked exceptionally tired and hopeless.

The sound of whimpering did not come from them though but from the opposite corner of the room. Eragon whirled around, bracing himself, only to grimace in disgust and hatred as he saw a scrawny-looking guard cowering on the floor in the corner. He was hiding under a table that contained chains, manacles, and other tools of torture that he tried his best to ignore, especially since the table and walls around it were stained with blood.

"Please don't hurt me!" The man squeaked. "Please! I beseech you, oh great one! I will tell you everything you want to know."

Clenching his jaw, Eragon sheathed his sword and marched over to the man. Burning with fury, he yanked him by the feet and pulled him out from under the table. The man wailed in fear and slight pain as he was dragged against the cobblestone floor.

Eragon ignored his cries for mercy and gripped his arm instead, shoving him up viciously against the wall especially close to a flickering torch that was hung there. The man's eyes were wide with fear as they darted back and forth between the torch and Eragon who was trying his best not to strangle the wimp to death.

"Where is the trader who was stationed here?" Eragon hissed. "Why has he not come as his master commanded and where has he gone? Are there more elves coming here?"

"Yes, yes!" The man gasped, nearly choking in panic. "He has gone to Dras-Leona for a conference with the Council of Traders and I overheard rumours about a recent development with Lord Durza he was supposedly involved with. The trader is set to return by the Western Pass in three days time."

"You lie," Eragon growled, making the man squirm.

"Of course not!" The man stammered. "Why would I do such a thing when my life is on the line?"

"Because there is no Western Pass you idiot!" Eragon barked, punching the guard in the gut.

With his mailed fist it only added to the man's pain and discomfort.

"Alright, alright!" He sobbed. "I'll tell you everything you need to know but promise me one thing."

"What?" Eragon drawled, not trusting the guard in the slightest.

"A quick and painless death?" The man asked. "I don't even want to think about what would happen to me if my master found out."

"Deal," Eragon sighed. "Now tell me quickly. I haven't much time."

The man nodded mournfully and told Eragon where the trader really was. Apparently, he was residing in a brothel located not far away in a small town. Having made a lot of coin in selling the imprisoned elves, he was feeling rather content with himself and decided to relax.

His worst mistake.

Eragon grinned inside his helm and dropped the man, turning aside to free the elves. His mind awhirl with plans and ideas, he failed to notice the man scramble for a dagger.

"Master Elberith!" One of the female elves cried fearfully. "Look out!"

Eragon swerved just in time as the guard stabbed at his back with an angry cry. Being too far away from his sword, Eragon grasped the man by the shoulders, lifted him up, and slammed him down on the cobblestone floor.

It all happened in seconds leaving Eragon no time to brace himself as a sickening crack confirmed his plan worked: The treacherous guard had split his skull on the hard stone floor. Eragon tossed his now limp body aside in disgust and the dagger fell out of his hand, clattering loudly to the ground.

Heaving a sigh, Eragon pulled himself to his feet. He picked up the sword and smashed its hilt against the iron lock on the cage door. Some of the elves winced as the lock was obliterated but they all cheered weakly, being feeble from their mistreatment, as the door opened and Eragon ushered them all out.

He spent the next few hours healing them all as much as they were able and asking them how they fared and if there were any more guards inside the main of the fort along with any more prisoners. Luckily, there were none since all the guards were deathly bored of this assignment and had finally gotten together for a game of drinking and gambling when Eragon intercepted them.

However, one of the more pretty female elves told Eragon that while being used in bed by the guard she had spotted what looked like plans or books of some sort. Perhaps they were records of more slaves. Since they had grown up in slavery they could not read but Eragon, being a nobleman's son, could and perchance he could figure out what to do next by reading those pages.

Eragon thanked all the elves and let them take control of the fort and take what they would from the dead soldiers. He had no need of any treasure that might be stored in the fort. His only goal was to free all the elf slaves primarily to get back at Durza for using Arya. He had won one victory but he knew that things wouldn't be so easy next time.

He would probably fail a few times if not several so he needed records and plans that would make his preparations easier. Lady Luck proved to be on his side once more for a quick search in the study which had a bed in it, obviously for the leader of the brutes, contained a couple maps, tomes, and records of slaves as well as markets and everything.

Eragon would need a small army to free them all and, sadly, he did not have that. He didn't know what he could do but by taking the items with him they would surely prove useful. One thing was for certain though: Eragon needed a story to tell Saphira and his parents.

He had rushed off during the party in the heat of the moment, throwing caution to the wind. He threw on the black armour, grabbed the nearest horse he could find and raced off to Fort Hellgrind having found out from a drunken nobleman where it was located which was surprisingly close by. Subsequently, he had blocked off his mind link to Saphira so he knew she would be angry even though she had been consuming a few barrels of mead.

He would have to think fast but dawn was coming and he had to hurry before he aroused suspicion. If he got out of the armour fast enough, he could say that he had just gone for a morning ride to clear his head having drunk more than a few goblets of wine in front of witnesses. It was as good a tale as any so with that thought in mind, he departed from the fort keep and sat astride one of the horses in the fort stables.

He was so caught up in his scheming that he had completely forgotten about the elf slaves he rescued. So when he was just at the gate, he was shocked and nearly toppled off his saddle to hear the elves cheer. Naturally, this caused the horse to rear in fright but posed a dashing look since the first rays of dawn pierced the gray morning sky causing him to look like a hero out of legend as his horse reared on its hind legs and Eragon raised his sword in order to keep balance, which he had got back along with his shield.

He got the horse under control hastily and turned back momentarily at the elf slaves. Every single one of them were gathered in a semi-throng in the courtyard beside a pile of dead rotting soldiers. The elves were dressed better now and cleaned up somewhat having a few hours to themselves whilst Eragon was preoccupied with research.

He could now see why they had once been called the Fair Folk for now without the grime and sorry looks that often clothed them like an extra garment, they looked glorious to behold. Instantly the beautiful face of Arya staring desperately at him swam unbidden before his eyes and he choked back a sob.

Wanting to return home swiftly so as to learn of her fate, Eragon sheathed his sword, strapped his shield to his saddle, and raised his armoured fist to his chest in salute. He bowed low and respectfully before taking grip of the reigns. He looked on in shock as all of the elves fell in a ripple to their knees before him.

They watched him in sheer, unmasked joy and happiness as he bowed shortly one last time before rearing again and galloping off into the distance, their loud cheering reverberating in his mind.

Eragon did not feel proud of himself but if there was ever anything in his useless, tome-filled life he could be satisfied and proud of, it was this. And for once, he felt like had a destiny to fulfil. And he would not rest until it was finished utterly and completely, or die trying.

TO BE CONTINUDE...

A/N: Like it? Love it? Hate it? Comment and critique so I can make this even better yet!